My Independence
by Squiggle Chee
Summary: The tale of a young boy who, yearning for freedom and adventure, takes the path of a Pokemon trainer. However, he finds that the life of a trainer isn't all glory and indulgence.


(Author's note: Any constructive criticism or comments would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!)

"Dad!"

Franklin paused at the bottom of the stairs, peering about at the empty kitchen. Unwashed dishes were on the table, but his father was nowhere to be seen. He dropped his pack to the floor and cursed quietly to himself. Finally, after years of living in this hellish household, his father considered him old enough to travel out with Pokemon. Franklin supposed he owed some of that to his stepmother. Hateful old hag she might have been, but it was her hidden desire to have him out of her sight for good that had made her plead for his father to "Let the boy live his dream". Franklin ran his hands through his messy blonde hair, pushing it back out of his eyes.

"Now what...I can't just leave without telling him goodbye..."

The front door slammed.

"Frankie! Is my little boy up for his big day yet?" His father called from the entrance. There was soft clunk as his shoes were kicked off.

Once again, Franklin ran his hands through his hair, more of a calming motion now. His pale blue eyes closed. "Yeah, dad."

His father came in. A tall, heavily-built man dressed up in a dark suit and tie, his red hair was smoothed back and shiny. He had work soon.

"Come on now, look alive! I left some waffles for you on the counter. You must be so excited!"

"Yeah." Franklin said, grabbing up a plate and pushing two slightly burnt waffles onto it with a fork.

"I got a call early this morning from the Professor. He's out of Pokemon..."

Franklin froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Professor Yew was his name, an elderly, kind-hearted man with grey hair and tender brown eyes. Like most professors who dwelled in towns full of Pokemon-loving children, he considered it his duty to provide "starters" to eager young trainers. He had promised Franklin months ago that he would have a Pokemon ready for him.

Franklin looked up at his father in disbelief. The man was smiling.

"What..." Franklin narrowed his eyes slightly.

"...So I got you a bit of a late birthday present." His father finished, reaching into his pocket. His joyful eyes watched Franklin with anticipation. Red-faced, he seemed about to burst with excitement.

Franklin took another bite of waffle, chewing slowly.

From out of his pocket, his father pulled a Pokeball. Bright red and innocent white, it shone like a gem in the early morning light that streamed through the curtained windows. He set it on the table before his baffled son, who merely stared.

"What's in it?" He asked dumbly, feeling unable to swallow, or even to take his eyes off it.

"Cottage cheese. What do you think?" His father clapped his hand to his forehead and guffawed. It was hearty, jolly sound that echoed in the small house.

"No, I mean what kind of Pokemon?"

"Open it and see."

"I'm eating. In a minute!"

Several minutes of silence passed. Franklin ate his waffles as quickly as he could, barely chewing, and his father simply stood there, now watching his only son with a strange expression on his face.

"You're just like Alison, you know. You crave freedom and adventure." Pride was in his father's voice, and he quickly blew his nose on a tissue and wiped his eyes.

Alison was Franklin's sister. Beautiful and cunning, she was currently a Pokemon trainer of rising fame with six gym badges to her name. When he was eight, she took the family Persian and went off on a journey. Franklin loved to read her letters to home, scrawled in her childish handwriting with a pink gel pen, telling about all the places and Pokemon she saw. About the amazing shiny Butterfree deep in Ilex forest or the bizarre but talented Morty of Ecruteak city. Franklin was slightly jealous, he admitted, he'd wanted to live a life like that for as long as he could remember.

Franklin finished, set his plate in the sink, and turned back to the table. He found himself face to face with his father.

"Take it. You'll love who's inside." His father pointed to the Pokeball still resting, untouched and unnaturally beautiful, on the kitchen table. Franklin picked it up and turned it over in his palm. It was cool and smooth in texture, heavier than he had expected. He'd never held a Pokeball before.

There was a click, a whoosh, and a flash of white light as Franklin opened it. The glow whirled, twirled, and finally took shape. A tiny Cyndaquil sat on the tiled kitchen floor, looking dazed and somewhat frightened of its new surroundings. It gave a loud squeak as it spotted Franklin staring, and covered its face with its paws.

Franklin smiled and stepped forward. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he knelt down before Cyndaquil, "I'm your friend, little guy." He was close enough that he could smell the slight sulfury odor that many fire Pokemon gave off. It was...kind of cute, he admitted.

Cyndaquil held its paws out to him and squeaked again. Again, again, and again. Now it was becoming annoying.

"...How do I stop it?" Franklin looked up at his father. "Does she want food?"

"He."

"Okay. Does he want food or something?"

"He's your Pokemon."

"Hmph." Franklin grabbed the enormous Snorlax-shaped cookie jar off the counter and pulled out a fresh chocolate chip. Cyndaquil squeaked louder and stretched his tiny arms out towards Franklin, unafraid now that food had become involved.

"So what, you just squeak when you want food?" Franklin asked as he placed the cookie in Cyndaquil's paws.

"Quil!"

Franklin closed his eyes, still smiling. He heard the soft crunching of the cookie being eaten, but started when he felt the jar being jerked out his his hands. He opened his eyes to see Cyndaquil push the lid back and dive headfirst into the jar. There was a soft thunk, and a squeal of joy from within. His father roared with laughter and clapped his hands on his knees.

"How about that? The little guy can eat! You gonna give this piggy a name?"

"Zell." Franklin said without even thinking, as he watched his Pokemon crawl out of the jar with an armful of cookies and bulging cheeks, crumbs all over his fur. Zell Tracht was a famous movie star who originated from their very own town. Charismatic and generous, most of the movies he acted in were about Pokemon.

"Hm."

Franklin stood and grabbed his backpack from beside the staircase. He hoisted it over his shoulder and turned to his father, who stood now with a serious expression. The man's dark, expressive eyes had become teary again, and his robust face was lined with worry.

"Franklin..."He spoke, laying a massive hand tenderly on his son's shoulders, "I know you're almost a man now and you think you can do anything, and I'm not saying you can't, but I want you to be careful out there. It's a big world, and not everyone is friendly."

Franklin's eyes darted to his father's left cheek. A long, jagged scar marred that side of his face, running from just below his lips all the way up to above his eyes. His father had made a habit out of telling a younger, adventerous Franklin how he had obtained it. He used to go exploring outside of town with his grandfather's Croconaw, pretending he was a bigshot trainer and challenging all the Rattata and Sentret to battles. Then he moved on to sparring with the Raticate and the Stantler, and his ego got more and more bloated with his long list of wins. He got cocky, and then he got too close to his Fearow opponent one day, who decided she'd rather aim a drill peck at the face of the trainer than fight Croconaw. Young Franklin had been so scared by the descriptive and bloody tale of the resulting hospital visit that for two years he refused to go outside of town without an escort.

"Yeah. I know, dad." Franklin nodded, turning his eyes away. His father's hand fell from his shoulder, and for a moment neither moved. Franklin motioned to Zell, and the tiny Pokemon scurried to stand by his feet. "Bye, dad. I'll call." Franklin whispered, his own eyes beginning to sting. Quickly he strode across the kitchen to the open door, taking the first steps upon a winding, lifechanging path.


End file.
